


'tis the damn season

by thecryptictaxi



Series: evermore [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Again, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Break Up, Evermore - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Getting Back Together, Humor, Light Angst, Sugar Bowl Generation, Toxic Relationship, if you like asoue and tswift please let me know i want to be your friend, inevitable break up, kitme but make it taylor swift, sad gay and morally gray, that's probably the motto of at least half of the vfd, unedited as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryptictaxi/pseuds/thecryptictaxi
Summary: “Can’t we call it even and just,” Esmé made an incomprehensible gesture with her hand that looked vaguely sexual.“What, you want to hook up?”“No, no,” Esmé said. “Well, yes, actually. But no, I meant that holding grudges is so out. Totally last season. Can’t we make up? Just for the weekend.”[in which kit and esmé go from enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers (for the weekend).]
Relationships: Kit Snicket/Esmé Squalor
Series: evermore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107644
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	'tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> i am vomiting out new fics like a fanfic writing machine. enjoy with while it lasts, folks.

Anyone else in Esmé Gigi Genivieve Squalor’s shoes would have been perfectly content with the life they led. She had an extremely wealthy husband (estranged), a grand penthouse (currently occupied by her estranged husband), high status as the City's sixth most important financial advisor, and all of the “in” fashion items. She also had a boyfriend that was somewhat of an acquired taste, but it was quite arbitrary in the grand scheme of things. It was only a matter of time before they broke up, anyway, and they both knew it. They were both just too stubborn to leave first.

But Esmé always wanted more. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, but she supposed it was something to do with money. People always wanted more money.

Olaf’s current mission to steal the Baudelaire fortune was failing miserably, and Esmé had stormed away from him after he had dismissed her concerns about the Sugar Bowl once again.

Impatiently, she waited on the corner of Dark Avenue for her chauffeur. The thin blouse she was wearing did nothing to shield her from the cold December weather, and she shivered. Finally, the limousine arrived, and as she settled into the luxurious seats of the limousine, she was once again reminded of how shitty Olaf’s car was. Not at all the proper ride for a lovely woman such as herself.

“Where to, madam?”

She scowled. “Just keep driving until I tell you to stop. And don’t talk to me. I’m busy thinking.”

Esmé glanced out the window. It was snowing. She scowled again. Snowing was _out_. And on Christmas Eve, too. She had such horrible luck.

“Oh, now my shoes will get wet,” she complained to herself. “Hmm, though I suppose I could get someone to carry me...”

She glanced out of the window again to see that they were now passing through a town she knew like the back of her hand. Her hometown.

“Who the hell said that you could take me here?” she snapped at the chauffeur, who cowered in his seat.

“W-would you like me to turn back around, ma’am?”

“Yes—” She caught sight of something out the window. “No. Never mind. Let me off here.”

“Here? It’s snowing!”

“I’m not blind, you fool. I can see the snow. Now let me out.”

The chauffeur did as instructed. “Shall I wait here, ma’am?”

“No,” Esmé declared. Then, she slammed the door shut, turned in the snow, and almost fell on her face. Huffing, she cursed the snow and approached the yellow taxi that was parked in front of the Methodist.

Jacques Snicket was dead, and so was his brother, so the only person who could be driving the stupid taxi had to be Kit. Esmé didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, but she expected it to be a revenge of some sorts. The plan would form by itself, she thought.

She yelped as she accidentally brushed against the mud adorning the tires of the taxi. Leave it to the Snicket Taxi to make her life miserable, just like the rest of the Snickets had done. It seemed to be a hereditary trait.

Esmé narrowed her eyes menacingly and forcefully pried open the lock on the taxi door. Then, she slid into the passenger seat of the automobile. In the freezing cold, she waited for exactly twenty-seven minutes. It felt like an eternity to her, however. She wasn’t known to be a patient woman.

While she waited, she thought of Kit’s face. Her blue eyes. Crooked nose. Slender, delicate jaw. Beautiful _and_ dangerous. Her perfect eyebrows were a thing of envy, Esmé thought. There was a time, in her younger years, when she had tried to shave them off while Kit was asleep. She had been caught, but the memory still brought a smirk to her lips.

Kit got into the taxi twenty-seven minutes later. By this time, Esmé still had not come up with a way to get revenge on the brunette, and she decided to throw away her plan entirely.

Fuck it. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life wondering what would have happened if she had taken another road. She was going to solve this nagging mystery if it killed her.

“Hello, hello, hello,” Esmé said.

“You sound like Olaf,” was Kit’s only response.

“Why Kit, not happy to see me?”

“Certainly not.”

Esmé snorted and surveyed the woman next to her. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and Esmé was quite shocked at the recent developments. Not only was Kit pregnant, but she was wearing a scarf that was terribly out. Kit never wore clothes that were out. That’s what drew Esmé to the woman in the first place.

“Why are you here, E? I don’t have the Sugar Bowl. Yet.”

“I am simply here to celebrate the anniversary of our break up.” Esmé’s mouth formed a smile, but her heart ached in a cold, painful kind of way.

Kit stayed silent, clearly contemplating whether or not she should throw Esmé out.

Esmé put her feet up on the dash and continued. “Each year during Christmas time, the atmosphere feels damp. Smells absolutely horrid, too. Like bad perfume. And it lingers after the holidays. I can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard I try. I imagine it’s your fault.”

“How is it _my_ fault?” Kit laughed humorlessly. “You’re the one who left.”

“You left me, too,” Esmé pointed out. “I stood there for hours in the rain, waiting for you to come back. You never apologized for that, by the way.”

“I came back.”

“I’m back now, too.”

“I was gone for a week. You were gone for years.”

“Can’t we call it even and just,” Esmé made an incomprehensible gesture with her hand that looked vaguely sexual.

“What, you want to hook up?”

“No, no,” Esmé said. “Well, yes, actually. But no, I meant that holding grudges is so out. Totally last season. Can’t we make up?”

“Esmé, I can’t.”

“Just for the weekend,” Esmé whined. “You could call me babe again. We could drive around. And I’ll leave after Christmas. Back to Olaf.” She repressed a grimace at the thought of going back to Olaf after a weekend with Kit. Beautiful Kit. Kit who could always tell which smiles were fake. Kit, who was probably the best lay she’d ever had. Kit, who was so comfortingly warm. Her chest clenched.

“You’re the enemy,” Kit said.

“Well, I heard that putting out fires is quite in this weekend. I won’t cause any problems.”

“You killed my brother.”

“That was Olaf.”

“I’m pregnant, and the father—”

“If I wanted to know who you were with, I would have asked.”

Kit smiled wryly. Oh, Esmé already missed that smile. Before she could process it, however, the engine roared to life, and melodic Christmas carols began to fill the air. For once, Esmé did not mind the children’s voices.

Kit pressed her foot on the accelerator.

“‘Tis the damn season.”

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to miss taylor alison swift. ma'am please, even though i love the woodvale theory, i'm begging you not to release a new album until i finish my evermore series. i'm already trapped under a pile of unfinished fics as it is.
> 
> [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/inner-egg-pong)


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